“Yup,” said Michelle. She was about to pull some money out of her pocket to pay when Justin started backing away from the table and said, “No.” Michelle turned and looked at him and he looked like he was in a horror movie. And he turned and ran out of the building and down the steps and back to Michelle’s LeSabre.

Because he and Michelle couldn’t dance there. Because the people at Country Swing weren’t ready to see Michelle and Justin dance the way they danced. Because Michelle danced what was traditionally the man’s part, because she was the bigger, stronger one, and she could do the lifts and the throws. And Justin danced what was traditionally the woman’s part, because he was the one who was small enough and flexible enough to be lifted and thrown. And that was why that judge had disqualified them at the Rec Center Talent Show all those years ago. And why Justin’s dad hated what he saw when Justin and Michelle danced at the Rec Center Talent Show all those years ago. Not only did his son dance—he danced as the girl.

Michelle called to Justin as he left the Rec Center. “Justy!” And she followed him down the stairs and out to the parking lot and got back in the car. “What’s up?” she asked, breathing heavily from trying to catch Justin.

“We can’t go dancing. Here. The way we danced. We can’t.”

“Okay.” She knew he was right.

“People aren’t ready for that here. And I thought I was. But I’m not. Not here.”

“Okay.” Michelle put her hand on Justin’s knee and squeezed it to comfort him.

The lightness Justin had been feeling was gone and had been replaced by the heaviness he usually felt. And he missed the lightness. Because it made him feel good. It was hard to let go of feeling good. Because he felt good so rarely.

Michelle took her hand off Justin’s knee and dug her keys out of her pocket and asked, “Wanna go?”

“Yeah,” said Justin, leaning his head on the passenger-door window.

Michelle started the car and pulled out of the Rec Center parking lot and headed back to Justin’s on the Road to Nowhere.

Justin turned on the radio and Michelle let him escape into some classic rock. A song about becoming comfortably numb came on. Justin was feeling uncomfortably numb. And wished he felt comfortably numb. He had some stuff that would make him comfortably numb and wished that he could use some of it. But he couldn’t. At least—not at Aunt Belinda’s.

When they got back to the house, the lights weren’t on.

And Aunt Belinda’s Honda wasn’t in the driveway.

Michelle had barely put the LeSabre in park when Justin got out of the car and headed inside. Michelle wondered if he wanted to be alone. Or if he needed to be alone—with someone. And she decided that he needed to be alone—with someone. So she cut the engine and followed him inside.